Ancient History
by Mogitz
Summary: Kit Walker sits at a bar stool in California, drinking away the memories of his past. Meanwhile, he is taken aback by a beautiful stranger that reminds him of Sister Jude, but there's no way it could possibly be her, right? Bridging the gap between season 1 and season 2. There was a reason that Tate was different from the rest of his siblings.


**1978 Los Angeles, California **

When he spied her from the other side of the bar, he almost did a double take. Her ravish me red lips, her strawberry blonde hair and cat eyes almost knocked the wind out of him. It wasn't that he was smitten, it was the fact that she looked so much her that if he hadn't buried her in the backyard himself. he would have never believed that the woman making eyes with all the men in the room wasn't Sister Jude, herself.

But it wasn't. It was simply uncanny, but she was too young. Maybe in her 30's. He pondered at the idea that maybe there was more to Judy Martin's past than anyone really knew, perhaps a secret love child on the west coast that she gave away. Either way, he took the final swig to his beer, slammed the heavy pub glass on the counter and gestured for another.

"You sure about that, bud?" the bartender contended. Kit Walker knew when he had had enough, and he hadn't reached hit cut off yet.

"Positive." His accent always warranted an odd look, instantly gave him away that he wasn't from here. He was sure that Allison would wonder where he was by now, the night stretching on into morning hours. He couldn't bring himself to leave.

Just as something had been triggered inside of him to save Jude from Briarcliff, bring her in and give her purpose, something in him couldn't tear him away from the mysterious, charismatic woman playing pool, desperate for attention from the bar goons that fawned over her. He could overhead her voice from where he sat when she got loud, and it sounded as if she wasn't really from around their either. Southern? He wasn't quite sure.

"You double kissed the 7 ball!" she hollered…although he had no idea what that meant. He wasn't ever into billiards, but she seemed to know a lot about it.

"Here ya go," the bartender slid the glass to him. Kit nodded in appreciation and fell back into his glass. He couldn't believe it had been 7 years since Jude passed away, even longer since Briarcliff, Alma and Grace. At this point it felt like an eternity.

1978. Over a decade of his life just passed in a blur. Tomas and Julia were 14 now, high school and dating finally becoming common conversation pieces around the house, although they didn't seem too interested. They were good kids, smart. Had their mother's eyes, each of them. And for that he was grateful, since he didn't have any other memories of Grace and Alma left anymore.

Then there was Allison. When they got married, Kit really thought that was all that was missing to his little family. Julia hadn't been too excited, but at least she kept quiet about it. Thomas, however, had his mother's spunk and ways of expression.

"It's not a good idea, dad. It's not your path," he had said.

Kit never really knew what Tomas' meant by such words. They finally warmed to Allison and the wedding seemed to be a joyous occasion.

"I want to have a baby," her big, brown eyes pleaded on their wedding night. "I'm ready, I'm not getting any younger," her pink lips parted into a smile. Kit smirked, the idea of any more children, especially noting the pattern of conception/alien abductions in his past just made him all the more hesitant. He had waited so long for Allison, waited so long to be happy. Between the obsession and the fear of the aliens between Grace and Alma, he had lost them both. A baby meant almost certain death, disappearance, or inevitable traumatizing affects on Allison that he couldn't bear to happen to her.

"Well, you could at least say hello." Her voice was closer now, and it took a moment for Kit to discover that she was not only standing next to him, but addressing him directly. He shifted his body towards her.

"You look familiar," he smirked, the words mashing together with his accent and inebriation. The woman smirked back, her blue eyes twinkling.

"Oh, like I haven't heard that one before," her voice purred. Kit had been around long enough to spot womanly interest. He glanced down at his wedding ring, then spotted hers.

"No, I mean it. You look like somebody that I used to know."

"Well, maybe I'm her?" she teased, sloppily.

"Can't be, she's dead. Buried her myself." Kit's attempt at humor fell flat in a way that was almost too morbid and sad.

"Aren't you going to offer to buy me a drink?" She asked through pouted lips. Kit raised his brows at her brash nature, gestured for the bartender.

"Give tha lady what she wants," he smirked, looking back at her with a wink. What he was doing, he wasn't quite sure. All he could think about was how much she reminded him of Jude, how much she looked like her, so much younger. She couldn't have been much older than him, years of drinking possibly aging her more than necessary. She reached out her hand, soft as velvet, and took his.

"My, you have such beautiful hands," she swooned, eyeing his room cooly. He looked down and saw his gold ring glimmering in the bar lights, suddenly remember Allison at home with the kids, the huge fight they had just had before he stormed out and decided to drink his woes away. "What's ya name, honey?" she purred. He swallowed hard, feeling as though he was standing on the brink of something he wasn't entirely sure he could come back from.

"Kit. Kit Walker." He was relieved that the name didn't seem to register in her eyes, that she didn't automatically associate him with a psychopath murderer like they did in the east. "And you are?" he asked, holding her hand in his as he glanced down at her own wedding ring, the diamond sparkling.

"Constance. Constance Langdon."


End file.
